


Peace on Earth

by mayamaia



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Genre: Christmas Carols, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-28
Updated: 2014-12-28
Packaged: 2018-03-03 22:30:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2890343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mayamaia/pseuds/mayamaia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the absence of a family celebration, Napoleon and Illya make their own cheer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Peace on Earth

**Author's Note:**

> Carabele's prompt was "contrast between Napoleon and Illya's views of peace on Earth"

Napoleon Solo's head flopped back against the cushioned back of his seat with an exasperated sigh. Local UNCLE planes had all been in use or grounded in the two days since their assignment had completed, and he and Illya were going home on a passenger plane on Christmas morning. He had asked Miss McNabb to pass a message along to his family that he wouldn't be joining them in time for festivities Christmas Eve or morning, and had received their regrets in return, with a request that he try for New Year's Eve instead.

Solo sighed again and glanced at his partner. Illya Kuryakin was wearing a typical blank expression, but looking at Napoleon as if to comment on his nonvocal complaints. "Ah, sorry," Solo said, "I just... my uncle and aunt are getting older, and I'd rather not miss family events that come only once a year if there might not be many more."

Illya nodded in sympathy, and replied, "The feeling is familiar, yes."

Napoleon looked slightly chagrined, "I know you do, partner. I'm sorry." He glanced past Illya, out the window where the morning light still glowed golden edges around the clouds, and added, "Sometimes it seems there's never any peace left for the peacekeepers."

Illya put his bookmark back in his book, moments after having removed it, closed the book and laid it down. "Peacekeepers or peacemakers, Napoleon? Surely peace must be made before it can be kept."

Napoleon blinked, then looked troubled. "Well, we are keeping the world from war most days of the year."

"But that may not be the same as keeping peace. Tell me, if we walked away, would the world stay much as it is, or grow swiftly unstable? We all know the answer to that." He looked away, at the steadily whitening clouds. "Our efforts have made nothing strong enough to stand with basic maintenance, not yet. Peace such as you want to keep is the child of generations of success and plenty, and that is not available worldwide. Not yet."

"Okay," Solo replied, "But at home at least, there's some security. We have family, friends, food and warmth to keep, and little risk of losing them between assignments."

Illya turned back to him and held his gaze for a moment, before saying, "We do, yes."

"Hmm." Napoleon considered for a moment a few of the things he had seen around the country and in the news in the past year. Poverty and desperation, and racial unrest had their share of the familiar part of the world.

Napoleon began to recite quietly, "Then from each black, accursed mouth / the cannon thundered in the South / and with the sound the carols drowned / of peace on earth, good-will to men! // Then in despair I hung my head / there is no peace on Earth I said / for hate is strong and mocks the song / of peace on Earth goodwill to men."

"You missed a verse between those," Illya said.

Solo rolled his eyes at him and continued, "Then pealed the bells more loud and sweet / God is not dead nor doth he sleep / the wrong shall fail the right prevail / with peace on Earth goodwill to men."

Illya shifted in his seat and faced forward. "Well that's one explanation for Mr Waverly's working hours."

Napoleon could only laugh.

* * *

When the flight was half an hour from landing, Napoleon interrupted Illya's reading, purposely this time. "Might I have some company today, since I'll missing my usual family ceremony and yours won't be for two weeks?"

A blonde eyebrow raised. "Proposed entertainments?"

A pearled smile. "Playing Wenceslas somewhere in Harlem?"

An answering smile confirmed the plan.

* * *

Napoleon practically jumped into the warm car out of the chilly air. "Okay," he said, "where to next?"

"Half a block down. You won't be able to warm up by the time we get there, perhaps you should jog there instead to get your blood moving." Illya waited just long enough to see the murderous glare he had earned, then grinned and drove down the street.

Solo rubbed his hands and blew on them before exiting the car with his official-looking briefcase and the neatly labeled envelope. He jogged up the apartment building's stairs and composed himself before knocking on its door. It opened on a chain, revealing a wary and wrinkled face.

Napoleon smiled and ducked his head. "Ah hello ma'am and Merry Christmas. Do I have the pleasure of addressing Mrs. McMahon?"

"An who wants to know me?" she answered with suspicion written all over her dark face.

Napoleon shrugged and replied apologetically, "Delivery, ma'am. Are you the mother of Buster McMahon who was injured last summer?" No answer, but then Napoleon wasn't actually in any doubt. Illya had done the research, after all, and the woman certainly resembled the young man who had been so badly hurt in the riots. "A donor who wishes to remain anonymous has sent you a little something to make the season a little warmer for you and yours."

The woman took the envelope with her brows drawn in confusion and Napoleon tipped his cap before turning away. He was barely halfway to the stairs before a shout rose behind him, "Lord A'mighty!" He grinned and skipped off to the car.

One door slam later, he asked Illya again, "Are you sure you don't want to make the last two runs?"

Illya smiled wryly and refused. "You are better with the public, and I would rather be warm in your footsteps."

"Hey!" Napoleon objected, mostly out of habit. But the silly grin he bore had only grown larger.

* * *

"Did we save anything to buy ourselves dinner?" Illya asked once they had finished their self-appointed rounds.

"Not a cent. I even emptied your own savings and you'll be starving all week," Napoleon answered, enjoying the growl it elicited. "Simmer down, Illya, I took you into account when I apportioned the gifts. Will Little Hunan's satisfy the ravenous beast tonight?"

Illya pretended to consider. "Provided you spring for egg rolls," he answered, "and at least three entrees."

Napoleon settled himself further into his seat. He sighed.

"More peaceful now, o peacemaker?" Illya asked.

"Keeper. I have no wish to be compared to a rifle right now."

"Indeed," Illya answered more soberly. After several seconds, he added, "I actually forgot it could mean that for several moments."

Napoleon smiled wryly. "It shouldn't, I think. But we do our best. Hey, I K, thanks for today."

Illya smiled again. "I am most happy to redistribute your wealth and will gladly do so again at earliest convenience..."

"Hey!"

"...my liege."

"Page boys should be seen and not heard."


End file.
